


The Elf King

by guineaDogs



Category: South Park
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Consumption, Cryle Week, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs
Summary: Cryle Week 2020, Day 2 - Historical/FairytaleIn a retelling of Goethe's poem, "Der Erlkönig," a young man suffering from tuberculosis is lured to his fate with the promise of something better.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Craig Tucker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Cryle Week 2020





	The Elf King

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory read the tags. If you're unfamiliar with the original poem by Goethe, I highly recommend it. It's beautiful, and one of my favorites.

_ Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht, _

_ Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht? _

It was his lungs that woke him up. Craig was sleeping as soundly as he could, propped up on his pillows in a way where he was slightly elevated. And then it happened. The pain, the full,  _ drowning _ feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He was awake immediately, leaning over and blindly reaching for a kerchief to cough into. Red droplets littered the fabric as he pulled it away, but there was nothing new about that. 

_ I’m going to die. _

It wasn’t the first time he thought about it, but with each passing day, he felt it more keenly. He leaned back against the headboard and tried to steady his breathing. He was so  _ exhausted _ , and it didn’t seem to matter how much he slept, he was still exhausted. It didn’t matter how many blankets he piled onto himself, how stoked the nearby fireplace was, or how much the mountain air warmed as spring drifted toward summer. He was still  _ always _ freezing.

Craig held a breath, and let it free slowly as he closed his eyes. Perhaps, something would change if he could rest just a little more—

_ Knock, knock. _ The door creaked open, and his mother appeared in the doorway. Her graying hair was tied back in a loose bun as she crossed the threshold, setting a small tray on his bedside table. “I heard you coughing,” she told him. “I thought you might want some tea.”

He nodded ambivalently and accepted the tea cup as she passed it to him. It had a floral aroma to it, one that relaxed him perhaps even more than taking a sip of it did. It was so overloaded with honey that there was almost a viscous-ness to it, which he hated. He’d never been a fan of honey, particularly in tea, but he stopped complaining about it three years ago. It helped soothe his cough and throat, even just for a short while.

“I also brought you toast and elderberry jam.” 

It wasn’t really toast. It was just his mother’s homemade bread, more warmed than actually toasted. It was fine, if only because the harder pieces of properly toasted bread hurt too much these days, when he did manage to eat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Craig, you need to eat something. Even just a bite.”

The thought was enough to make him feel even worse, but he relented. Just one bite. It took more effort than he wanted to exert to chew and swallow, but he did it and that was what mattered. It would keep his mother from nagging him more. Except he wasn’t that lucky, because next she made his way to the window, pulling back the curtains. The window was open, as the fresh air was supposed to help, but now she was letting it in full force along with the too-bright sunlight.

“You should go outside today.” He didn’t respond, so she continued. “We’ll set the lounge out for you, and you can read one of your books.”

“I suppose.” 

* * *

It wasn’t a bad view: the spot where the lounge was set up for him overlooked a valley of wildflowers. There were patches of snow remaining where the sunlight failed to hit, and snow capped mountains in the distance. For all intents and purposes, he should have liked it. But Craig found it difficult to enjoy much of anything. 

That was with the exception of his new  _ friend _ , Kyle.

Perhaps it was strange that he had one; there wasn’t another house around here for miles, but Kyle wasn’t just any ordinary friend. He didn’t live at another house, or on another homestead. He’d only ever been vague about the location of his home: somewhere deep, on the other side of the forest. Even if he’d been in better health, there was no way that Craig could visit. No ordinary human would.

“But you’re not ordinary,” Kyle told him. He often spoke of his home, the kingdom of elves over which he ruled. While Craig was propped up on the lounge, he sat in the long grass beside him, resting his head on Craig’s thigh in a way that could hardly be comfortable. But what did Craig know of comfort anymore? “I can take you there.”

His thumb held his place in his book, but it didn’t have his focus. Instead it was Kyle’s vibrant, red curls and the sharp contrast it had to his too-perfect skin, his pointed ears. When they made eye contact, Craig felt like Kyle could see right through him. His tongue darted across his lips, and he quickly looked away. “Tell me about it again.”

Craig closed his eyes as he listened to the soft lilt of Kyle’s voice, and as he drifted off, he could see the fantastical world that Kyle conjured for him. It was land unlike he’d seen, but he felt so certain that what he saw in his mind was accurate. A place with waterfalls and rainbows, a place warm and inviting with more fruit than he’d ever seen in one place, with stunning dwellings that he didn’t even know how to describe. 

He had this dream often enough, when Kyle came around, who’d come around everyday ever since Craig’s family moved him out to the countryside. Sometimes, he was in the orchard, taking a bite of a fruit he’d never seen before, one that was sweet and juicy beyond his comprehension. The nectars were delicious, and there never seemed to be a care in the world. He never wanted to leave.

Kyle’s fingers laced with Craig’s, thumb stroking over the top of his hand. It was intimate. It was  _ always _ with the sort of forbidden intimacy for which he yearned. He leaned close enough that Craig could smell every note that made up Kyle’s unique fragrance: evergreen, rose, and something that made him feel pleasant and light.

_ This could be yours too. You know what you have to do. _

And then he woke up.

* * *

He promised Tricia he’d go to the barn. It wasn’t far from the house, just a little further down the inline where there was a pasture fenced off. It was just large enough for the horses to graze and rest. 

Never one to have much to say, he was content to let Tricia talk incessantly the whole way down. It was better this way; if he wasn’t speaking, it wasn’t nearly as obvious to her just how badly his lungs ached. How winded he felt. 

“This way,” she said, leading him into the barn to the far end of it. There was a patch of hay that had fallen from the loft above. Tricia knelt down, shifting some pieces of hay to reveal the sort-of nest where a litter of kittens that must’ve been birthed by one of the barn cats. “Do you think I’ll be able to keep them?”

“There’s no way Mom and Dad will say no,” Craig assured her. He wanted to remember the way she smiled up at him forever. 

It was difficult to keep track of time. The kittens were too young to be handled, but not too young to be observed, and the barn cat didn’t seem to mind their existing relatively near as she settled down to nurse her young.

Proof of how understimulated he was, was just how much he enjoyed watching the kittens with his sister. But it came with a price. One where his lungs gave out on him halfway back home, where he collapsed to his knees and his blood splattered on the dry soil.

It was the last time he directly saw daylight.

* * *

“Your room is quaint,” Kyle observed from the foot of the bed. His vision was blurry in the way one’s was upon first awakening, but Craig could see him clearly enough. His hand rested on Craig’s shin. He wasn’t looking at him, but instead at the sparse furniture in the room, the well-used books lining his dresser. The ambrotype beside them. 

“We left a lot of things behind.” He knew that story. He knew about how the doctors insisted that the best cure was fresh air, away from the city. It helped so many people. They recovered, they moved on. But it hadn’t helped Craig.

“Yes. It’s time to do that again, don’t you think?”

The meaning behind Kyle’s words hit him slowly and heavily. He felt his lips tremble, his vision blurred, this time with something salty and awful. Craig tried to internalize it, to swallow it back down. But it was too little too late, as it resulted in another coughing fit that felt like he was choking on his lungs again.

Kyle’s brilliant green eyes were on him, but he made no effort to move. 

The bedroom door burst open with a deep  _ Craig! _ shouted frantically. His father rushed to his side, propping him up so he was able to lean forward as he coughed. Blood spilled onto the quilt rather than draining down his throat. “Easy, there. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” 

The coughing ceased, but the pain in his chest didn’t stop. 

“Craig. It’s time,” Kyle repeated.

He ran a hand back through his choppily cut black hair, shaking his head. “I don’t want to.” His grip tightened on his hair, his eyes clenched shut as he tried to calm himself. “I barely… I didn’t get to...  _ I don’t want to go.” _

“Craig?” It was his father’s voice.

But when he opened his eyes again, all he could focus on was how much Kyle’s expression had softened. How he moved closer, straddling his hips, long fingers cupping his cheeks. “There’s a lot you didn’t get to do, it’s true. Twenty years is hardly any time at all. It isn’t fair, but that’s the problem with this plane of existence.”

Craig bit his lip, shaking his head. He tasted blood, but was it from his lungs, or from his lip? “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

“It’s not about deserving, not here. But when you come with me, I’ll give you everything you deserve—no more pain, no more sickness. Everything you wanted that this world couldn’t give you, I  _ will _ , Craig.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I’m scared.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

“Craig.” If his father sounded worried before, this was something well beyond that. “Who are you talking to?”

Craig’s brows furrowed. “The Elf King, Dad. He wants me to go with him.” He looked somewhat in his father’s direction, then in front of him. He was losing focus. His eyes were glassy. “Don’t you see him?”

There were words dancing around the world. Frantic voices, movement and shadows he didn’t see. This time, when Kyle asked if he was ready, Craig nodded. Kyle leaned in. Their lips connected, and with a deep kiss, Kyle stole him away with his last breath. 


End file.
